I'll crawl home to her
by mirajens
Summary: A Miraxus oneshot dump. Most will be AUs.
1. a thousand and one nights

So…. Mirajane and Laxus as ex art students? Laxus was originally going to be a writer here but he doesn't really seem like a man of angst poetry.

This is gonna be a series of oneshots. I've been neglecting my otp for some time now and I'm properly ashamed. And since all the different story uploads are giving me a headache, I'll just compile Miraxus oneshots here.

* * *

 **1\. a thousand and one nights**

(art au, rated m, 2,610 words, dec 29 2016)

.

.

When he saw her again, it was nine years later but she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Laxus Dreyar knew art: he'd studied Impressionism at length, dabbled with string and wind instruments to the melody of classic geniuses, traveled Europe and southeast Asia to immerse in their culture of art, spent a summer at his friend's family forge to bend metal to his will and could put acrylics on canvass so brilliantly it made his professors weep. But Mirajane, for all the beauty of the world was his Helen with a splendor that was uncontested and a soul that was shelter. Even after so long, he pined for her.

Otherworldly, weary and lithe, she stood like a rose among a pit of thorns. His vision warped until it was only her in the focus and other partygoers blurred into bad bokeh. God, what a sight. Seeing her after all this time was an overload on his sensory. Mirajane Strauss had always been lovely but now that they weren't children anymore, Laxus thought she wore womanhood quite well and paired with an understated apathy, the desire for her became tenfold.

Thinking fast and swallowing caution, Laxus plucked two flutes of champagne from a passing server and made a beeline for the silver-haired woman. Even when he had half the room more to close the distance between them, Mirajane's head craned to the side, her gaze finding him without falter. They'd always been like two magnetic forces, Laxus supposed. Like the needle of a compass attracted to the north, there was a constant pull among them. Laxus saw Mira murmur something to the small crowd she was addressing, nod her apologies and walk away from them all without releasing his stare. As she approached, Laxus was mesmerized by the dress she wore. Midnight blue satin that clung and flowed at the same time, a modest halter in front but with its back dipping scandalously low. The contrast her paleness made against it was maddening. Her lips were the color of old blood, her nails of molten gold. Her eyes were big, blue and bright, seeing right through him.

"So you are here," Mirajane said when she met him halfway. She took the drink he offered and sipped delicately. When her mouth came away, the satin finish of her lip paint left no residue on the rim of the glass. "Erza said you were on the RSVP list but I didn't actually believe you'd have the audacity to show up."

He'd been ready for the sting of her words. He'd had years to prepare for every possibility of them reuniting and if he was being honest with himself, this wasn't the most scathing first remark from her that he'd imagined. Cordially, he nodded and mirrored her when she drank. He wished he'd grabbed for something stronger. "Well, me and my audacity are here. I've been wanting to see your work in person for some time and I'm glad work finally allowed a schedule for it. Do you want me to leave? I don't want to upset you during such a big night." Her first showing in New York after a 2 year hiatus. The tickets had sold out in 2 weeks.

Mirajane's molars ground together, making her already tender head throb with a headache. The tickets to her gallery were eight hundred dollars a head and she couldn't just kick out a patron just because he'd broken her heart once upon a time. She didn't want to give herself the leisure of feeling that way. "You paid a ghastly amount of money to be here so I'm not going to stop you from consuming tiny cheese portions and expensive alcohol."

Laxus' finger tapped against the flute, a nervous tick. "I thought I was here for your art."

"You never had much care for my art, or your own for that matter." she countered. _You left me all alone with it because you would rather play into your grandfather's ambition than follow your heart. But what does a French floozy know about the gravity of turning down the chance to lead a corporate empire to sculpt or paint or draw or forge._ There was a dare in her eyes when she said, "I don't imagine it would be that hard to walk away now, wouldn't it?"

"That's hardly fair of you to say, Mira. You know I had no choice." He swallowed his bitterness and tamped down on his urge to defend himself. Back then, he would have been quick to snap and yell and rage. Two artists dating had been a terrible maelstrom of bad tempers and passionate loving but since he'd traded in his charcoal stained fingers and oil paints for a grand desk and an executive's salary, he had no such luxuries now. These days his poker face was an incredible thing and it wouldn't fail him now. It wasn't the time to hash out their past, not when there were already less than subtle people already watching their exchange. "I do care for your art. I bought your painting of Scheherazade. It's an excellent piece."

Same as Laxus, Mirajane compressed her emotions into a tiny box and stored it at the back of her mind. There were critics everywhere and someone as rich as Laxus was a favorite of tabloids. She didn't want their spat up for public consumption. "Then I thank you for your patronage." She hooked an arm around his and began to steer him to where the painting was mounted, away from the larger crowd. "Shall we admire your purchase? We can celebrate your acquisition and my sale with some more champagne."

For a while, there was only the sound of her thin heels clicking against the marble floor and the discreet chatter of the rich as sounds between them. Mirajane did not speak as soon as she felt no more stares on them and Laxus had never been one to have the graciousness to fill stillness with inane chatter. So they walked in silence until they reached the fifteen-foot painting with the SOLD placard placed in a pedestal to its side.

"It's a beautiful painting," Laxus said as he appraised the work yet again.

Mirajane nodded. Even with humility she was allowed to be proud of what her hands had been able to do as her heart broke. Copying Laxus, her head tilted up to scrutinize the painting. Scheherazade lay perched on pelts of mink, bear and fox, lounged wearily after a night of disquiet. Even cordoned off in gossamer that hung off her bed's posts, the agony in her large eyes was clear.

Mirajane loved this piece. She'd bled for Scheherazade. She'd done pathetic, desperate things to prolong the inevitable as well, hadn't she? Scheherazade had her stories and Mirajane used the siren call of art to keep her love from leaving. And when that hadn't been enough she'd used her tears, her body, her words and her promises, all of them fruitless since at the end of the year, Laxus took that plane to New York and never contacted her ever again.

Oh, she'd heard about him. Months after he left, she saw his face on The Business Herald under the headline proclaiming him the new COO of Dreyar Corp. And as a rich bachelor was prone to, his affairs had been tabloid fodder. Erza always had a handy rant about the traitor, the fiend, the lowlife Laxus whenever she and Mirajane were watching the morning show and a snippet of Laxus' antics would be broadcasted. Mirajane wouldn't reply, only watching the gossip with an unreadable expression. Soon the media would document his ascend to CEO just tender days after Makarov Dreyar was buried. No more extravagant affairs made the news after that.

"You gave her to me, do you remember?" Ignoring Laxus' inquisitive look, she continued to look at the woman on the canvass. "I had a paper I needed for Humanities and you told me to write about her."

He remembered. The topic had been of the caged nature of humans. Laxus told her of Scheherazade while he stuffed quails for their dinner. Somehow Mirajane focused on the how Scheherazade awaited her captor every night despite the fact that she was trapped by a deranged man. Laxus didn't get it, but it could have been that back then, Mirajane had been reaching for any answers, any signs. He'd told her of his plans to go back home to help with his grandfather's company and she'd been begging for him to stay. It was not the imprisonment that she fixated on, but the desperation. The longing for something. "Yeah, I remember."

"I painted this when you left. I'd broken everything you left behind and burned everything I couldn't shatter. It felt like I was trying to scrub you off my skin but it didn't work. I painted day and night to purge you from my system. I formed clay so I could throw them. But I couldn't finish this painting." Her hand lifted so she could point at the face. "I had everything sketched but not enough to encourage the paint. I could finish her face, her hair, her neck and her shoulders but I blanked when I tried to do anything else. So many years I stared at her unhappy expression and wished to finish."

"And what helped you finish?"

Mirajane shrugged. "Anger. Loneliness. A happy encouragement. I was capable of many other emotions while being miserable for you, you know? Elfman gave me a nephew and Lisanna got married and Erza opened a patisserie. I was happy with second hand motivation from them so I finished. It was like pulling teeth, to be honest, but it was organic, refreshing. I missed painting my sad queen." Now one gold-tipped finger traced the curves of her signature on the bottom right corner. "Good things can come from heartbreak. So in a way, I'm grateful for you. It's kind of funny that you bought this, though, isn't it?"

Too baffled to ask any more questions or beg for more explanation, Laxus nodded. He hadn't known. "I'll treasure this."

Mirajane squeezed his hand and gave him a smile. Gentle warmth bloomed in her chest, a long lost romance stirring but overpowered by a swell of camaraderie. They'd loved each other once and had helped each other grow even thousands of miles apart. Even though she was hurt, she was thankful. "I hope you're happy."

His palms were damp and his chest was tight. His breath felt clogged and he wanted to touch her. So he did. Almost a decade apart from her working his ass off and trying to be a man good enough that she wouldn't see their time away from each other as a crock. His large hand smoothed down the downy curls of her head and cupped her cheek. A pang shot through his heart when she pressed the side of her face into his touch. "I have regrets but they don't seem that important right now." _Not when you're here and we're like this. Not when I feel like I have a chance to make it right._

After that, it was hard to remember what went through either of their heads that lead to them ending up in a frumpy maintenance closet. Mirajane sat on a crate of old promotional posters with her head thrown back and her hair shining from the minimal light a tiny window. Laxus' mouth against her skin was hot, a convector of something molten in her veins. When Laxus kissed her, kissed her lips and neck and her chest and the space between her eyes, it was like he was trying to devour the moon beams off her body. It had been so long. Mirajane felt no smaller for admitting how she longed to feel him on her again; that sturdy mass of him making her all sultry, impatient and needy at the same time.

Her hands smoothed over the shoulders of his suit, her fingers meeting jest behind his neck to pull his face closer for her to kiss. Laxus' hand moved again, now moving up the slit of her dress and imprinting heat where he touched. Against his mouth, Mirajane gasped when she felt him against the apex of her thighs. "Yes," she breathed against his cheek.

"What?"

"Do it. I want you to. I've missed you."

The gentle prodding against her underwear became less reluctant. Laxus stroked and pushed in a manner he remembered she liked, back from when he could have her every night and she'd want him right back. Now, he wasn't so sure if this was something sincere or this would end with the rise of the sun. But the way she moaned lowly and the way the muscles of her thighs clenched and unclenched as if mimicking the hectic pulse of her heart was all the encouragement he needed. _Later,_ he thought. There was time for fear later.

Muscle memory encouraged two of his longest fingers to rub slow and firm against the spongy patch of flesh inside her and just like that, Mirajane was squirming, spasming, then shivering weakly against his chest. When Mirajane finally came, she was quiet, direct contrast from how she mewled, groaned and gasped during buildup. Laxus was glad he still knew.

"If you're going to leave me again, I don't want to see you ever again."

The brief quiet was yet again disrupted. Mirajane's voice was strained but not enough to hide the disconsolate tone of it.

"Mira," Laxus began without a clue of how to continue. What could he say to the woman he had betrayed? What did she want to hear?

"Leave if you will and let me heal." Mirajane continued. "But if you're not going to leave, stay and make things right. I'm not someone convenient. I'm not a college affair. I'm not someone to call when your dick is hard and your secretary won't suck it. If you're going to stay, you have to fucking commit or I swear to you, your ugly sculptures and Italian appliances won't be the only things I'll break."

He's struggling for anything to say. He wants to make everything right and make up for all the pain. His thoughts are a mess but prevalent is how he loves her, even after everything. There are tears trapped between her long lashes and just the barest hint of tear tracks on her cheeks. He wants to kis her, he wants to fuck her again, he wants to apologize but none of those things seem sufficient enough to express his guilt and eagerness at the chance she was giving him.

Instead, he bumbled, ever so succinct. "You said those sculptures were amazing."

In a half-assed attempt at being kind, Mirajane wicked her thumb across the sharp protrusion of his cheekbone. "You'd just flunked metal works. I wasn't about to add to your dying self-esteem back then."

"I was thinking of my mother when I did that. It was fucking peonies made of Quartz."

Mirajane laughed at his wounded expression and hugged him close, utterly delighted. "Darling, it was still ugly. Even your mother thought so."

Feeling bliss inflate in him, Laxus hid his grin behind the cloud of her hair. "Well then. We're not gonna invite that lying wench to our wedding."

"Our wedding?" Mirajane's eyes were wide when she pulled away so she could find the jest in his expression. She found none. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist on dinner first."

"I thought you would say that."

* * *

 **note:** me doing jazz hands at how awkwardly I end fluff pieces.

Fic title is from Hozier's Work Song. I love Hozier. Listening to him makes me an even bigger queer than I already am. Work Song is absolutely my fave and I think it fits the otp so much. Listen to it if you can be fucked to do so.


	2. morning will come

This was heavily inspired by a poem inskinned on tumblr did called "he said he loves me but I know he doesn't, still I don't want to lose him so I pretend I believe him". They have the most beautiful poetry and they actually have books for sale and I suggest you buy them. Just really great fucking work that makes me emo. Thank you for letting me use it!

This is an AU. Modern day.

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 **2\. morning will come**

(modern setting, rated m, 2708 words, march 22 2017)

.

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She can feel him falling out of love with her.

It's not something Mirajane notices suddenly; it's a long creeping sentiment that finally comes to a solid conclusion one night while they two of them are having dinner in the apartment they share. She can't tell what brings on the abrupt realization that the man she's given everything to has stopped loving her. Could it be how they sit face to face but he feels lightyears away? Could it be how he's tapping lazily at his phone instead of making conversation with her? Could it be the whole vibe he gives of wanting to be anywhere else but here? Mira can't quite put a finger on it.

 _A woman just knows what she knows,_ she thinks to herself with no spike of dudgeon, just a sense of hopelessness she hasn't felt in quite a while. She looks at Laxus, feels her desperation surge, and it's not until he looks up from his own preoccupation and points out that she hasn't eaten a single bite that she realizes she's trying to memorize every small detail of his face as if he'll fade away at any given moment.

* * *

It's slow, so slow, how he lets her go. When Mirajane tries to wrap her arms around him, he's stiff as if he wants to recoil. When she kisses him, he turns his head just a little away so her lips land the tail end of his scar. She always looks betrayed after such occurrences but just until a nanosecond later, when Laxus' eyes find hers as if to check if he has hurt her too much- if he has finally pushed her over the edge.

But Mirajane's expression has already been reeled in and she's smiling that sweet little smile at him as if it doesn't hurt, as if she's not just waiting for him to dispose of her. She's not going to be the one to draw the line; she's not going to be the one to end what she can prolong.

* * *

He still fucks her, though.

 _I guess he hasn't found that part about me repulsive yet._

They've know each other since childhood, been together for six years and living together for two. He's never liked doing it in the shower until recently and Mirajane tries not to wonder too much on the why. _Maybe he wants to wash you off him as soon as he's done._ His hands are on her tits, his lips on hers. Like this, she can still tell herself _everything is okay and_ _he's still in love with me._ His kiss is so tender, so loving. It almost feels like a mercy before death.

Then, he breaks away, turns her around and urges her to bend over. Mirajane presses her face against the wall and sighs when he slips inside. The slap of skin against skin echoes against the tiled room, coalescing with pleasure noise. Her moans climb when Laxus's longest fingers find her clit and he rubs masterfully. It feels much too good so she comes in no time, crying out his name like back then when she still had to ask him to stay the night because leaving each other seemed detriment.

She speculates the possibility that he remembers feeling that way. Maybe he does. _He's holding me so close._ It almost feels enough to balm over all the hurt.

But the false sense of hope doesn't even take root before Laxus pulls out, grabbing her hips so he can turn her and says with a hoarse voice, "Mira, baby…" and she already knows what he wants.

 _He doesn't even say please anymore._ She gets on her knees and gets to work. His grip on her hair is never painful but it's probably not out of consideration, more out of habit because she never continues when he pulls. He grunts and pants but he never says anything. When he comes in her mouth, he doesn't even say _thank you,_ or _I'm sorry for being an asshole, sorry for not even trying to fix what's broken, sorry I'm gonna leave you soon._ Above her he just groans as his carnality ebbs into something indolent. She's not even done wiping at her lips when he gives her an almost perfunctory kiss on the head, turns away and starts lathering his hair with shampoo.

When did they stop talking after this? When did sex start being just something convenient and stop being so romantic? When did he stop holding her after, covering her with kisses, singing her praises, telling her _thank you, I love you, I never want to not have my hands on you._

Mirajane stands on shaky legs, pushes for space under the shower's spray and washes the last 10 minutes off her skin. They share a two foot width of legroom with miles between them until Laxus, as if he's just noticing her for the first time tonight, looks at her and says, "Oh, Gramps wants to have dinner on Thursday. You free?"

With no strength to put up anymore pretense, no more desire to meet his gaze, Mira nods, hiding under the curtain of her hair. "Yes."

* * *

Laxus has work that takes him away many days. Maybe this new job is what truly started taking his heart elsewhere and keeping it there. Mira conjures up possibilities of a "someone else" but nips the thought in the bud. She doesn't need newfangled anxiety on top of existing anxiety right now. She doesn't need to think of him having already found someone new, not when he's about to go on another business trip.

Mirajane tries to be the one to take him to the airport as much as possible. It's more time with him, just a few more moments with the man she still so badly loves, even if she has a fourteen hour shift at the hospital ahead of her, even if she suspects that another woman is going to be picking him up when he lands. She hazards in front of his terminal. Laxus inspects his bag one last time to check for the essentials (wallet, phone, ticket, and the passport Mira has stuck a post-it with _I miss you already_ written on it, reeking of desperation). He's talking as he fixes his jacket and reaches behind his seat for the small carry on with 3 days' worth of clothes. _Why can't he stay still? Why is he trying to do everything at the same time? Is he is that much of a hurry to be rid of me?_ Mirajane can't hear the reminders he prattles off ("I did the cheques for the bills last night so you can just drop them off." "If the old man calls, tell him he can reach me on my cell." "I picked up the dry cleaning last night. It's still in my car, can you take them inside? I was in a hurry."), so focused is she on the look of him: handsome, sharp, the only picture of romance that she has ever known. She brushes away the dastardly intrusive thought that she better take a good look because it's the last time she can.

"You okay, Mira? Did you hear what I said?"

Mirajane doesn't startle but she flushes at being caught so distracted. "Of course. Call me when you land, okay? And again when you get to the hotel."

Laxus is simultaneously checking his watch, hefting his luggage and opening the car door. "I'll see. I'll be at dinner with Gajeel until late so you might be asleep by then." He steps one foot out the car, clearly impatient.

Mirajane grips the steering wheel. _At least promise you will. It's not that hard to call. You know I'll pick up despite anything, just to hear your voice._ "Baby?"

Now he's out of the car, ducking inside to grab his luggage, having foregone a kiss, a hug, _any fucking show of gratitude that I made myself late for work just to drive you here._ "Yeah, what? I need to get inside and check in."

Pride is a bitter pill to swallow but at this point, Mirajane has none left. All she has is her ache for someone who's right in front of her, and it bleeds out in her tone. "I'll miss you. I love you so much."

The play of expressions on Laxus' face is easy to read: bafflement, irritation, and then guilt. He looks like he's trying to figure out what to say back. He never used to need to, when his feelings were still genuine. "Yeah, love you. Thanks for the lift."

He dives in to kiss her but it's more of him just smashing his lips against hers and then the door closes in her face.

* * *

She meets up with Gray for coffee the next day Laxus is gone. She's not sure why it took so long for her to seek out her most trusted friend, since she's always valued his insight. She needs male perspective on her plight. And to tell the truth, she is lonely as well.

"At what point is it enough?" Mirajane asks. She's expounded on her domestic issues to a silent Gray, who has had 3 refills of brewed coffee, two plates of eggs and bacon, and by the looks of it, he's not going to be done any time soon. Mira has ordered one cup of coffee since arriving and it's gone cold since. She samples her tepid brew and thinks: _the coffee is still shitty. At least time or change has not touched this place._

"Isn't that up to your discretion?" Gray answers. He's a man who answers questions with questions, always on the safe side of things with his lack of commitment. Love and care for his friend as he might, he never gives her any imposing input and Mirajane supposes that's why she likes him so much.

"I'm asking _you._ What would you do if you were in my shoes?"

"I don't know, Mira-chan. I've never had to put up with your hollow block of a boyfriend so I have no sage advice."

Now Mira looks annoyed. While Gray's unbiased opinion is appreciated most of the time, there are times like this when he is too infuriatingly unhelpful in his neutrality. "Are you telling me I'm paying for your caffeine fix and mammoth breakfast and you're not even gonna give me a little input?"

Gray finishes chewing before he speaks. He sets Mira on edge as he swallows his food and chases it down with coffee. "Okay. So if my man was treating me like a blowjob ATM and giving me the bare minimum of affection, I'd have long dumped his ass. But not before making sure he comes home to a trashed apartment and all his clothes down the garbage chute." Gray drains his coffee and signals for another. Their regular waiter is prompt with the coffee pot. Mirajane declines with a polite smile. When the waiter leaves, Gray continues, "Babe, you weren't born this hot to live off a man's emotional scraps. You have to figure out if you still really love him and if all of _this_ is worth it, or if it's just Stockholm Syndrome now."

The air goes quiet, stale with unshed tears Mirajane blinks away. Her eyes are red, glossy and burning and her throat hurts but she won't cry. She allows her hands to shake, though. "I don't know life without him, Gray. And I don't think I want to find out."

She's seen Gray look disappointed before. But never like this. Never at _her_. "Then there's nothing I can do to help you, Mira-chan."

* * *

When Mira gets home, she tries his number. Just like yesterday, it goes straight to voicemail and she doesn't want to remember the embarrassing amount of messages she has left asking him to call her back when he has the time. So far, all she has that indicates he's still alive is the bare _I'm here. Gajeel's picking me up and we might be busy until I have to leave. Might extend my stay. I'll call soon,_ which he sent five hours after his landing time, as if he just remembered there was someone waiting at home for him.

* * *

The thing about modern media is that it almost always fails to give the cheating thing any justice. Surely it's a plot that's been beaten dead since the beginning of literature but no one focuses on something that Mirajane figures out one day. No one tells you how disgusting it feels like to be cheated on.

Disregarding the awful sadness and the blinding rage, it's so easy for a long lost sense of insecurity to show up and swallow one whole. Mirajane tries to remember the last time she indulged such an intrusive feeling and the last she can come up with is during high school when the regulated swimwear failed to hide her modesty by clinging to curves none of her classmates had yet.

She observes herself in front of a mirror, just fresh from the bath. Her figure is great but it's not what Laxus committed to 6 years ago. Her breasts could be perkier and her thighs could be more toned. She's softer in her belly since she started dedicating her hours to the hospital and all there was to eat there were miserable cafeteria food. There are bags under her eyes. Does that turn him off, seeing her so tired all the time? A nurse has small need for makeup so Mirajane wears none but tinted chapstick these days.

 _I bet the girls from his office wear makeup and do their hair and wear pretty clothes. Laxus used to tell me I looked nice when I put in effort back then._

Maybe she should bring that effort back. It wouldn't hurt to line her lids or curl her pale lashes every now and then. Maybe with rouged cheeks, Laxus will love her again. Maybe if she wasn't so bland, he wouldn't leave.

* * *

The day Laxus comes home is a Saturday. It's the busiest day in the hospital week but Mira begged off as ill (and perhaps she really was, with the way she persisted with a man who didn't want her) just to see him come through the door.

When Laxus comes home, it's five days after no calls, no messages, no emails, no nothing. For a moment, while sitting in the living room couch and casting glances at the door, she has a moment to ask herself, _are you sure he's gonna be back?_ There has been no word of him at all. It was as if he stopped caring at all that she waits, that she holds on.

But the heavy load sitting on her shoulders ebb away lightning quick when the main locks sound and the door swings open. There was Laxus, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, but at least he was home. _Finally_ home so that the constricts against Mirajane's lungs could loosen even for just a bit.

* * *

When she rises to greet him, complete with a smile that swallows so much ego, Laxus has the courtesy to look ashamed of himself. But this is a house of play-actors so he reels it in, smiles like she does and pretends like she does.

"I'm home," he says, as if that words still means anything to him, as if the dirty laundry in his bags don't reek of someone else's perfume, as if this was going to be the last time he'd come home from an infidelity.

But if he knows Mira, he can do this again and again and again and again and he'd still come home to her open arms. This isn't something he takes for granted. Or maybe if he does, it is to see how far he can push her until she shoves back. Over time, this reasoning seems to have lost the conviction it used to have so that Laxus himself can't believe it anymore.

And Mira? _She_ doesn't seem to want to not believe it, if her gentle gaze is anything to go by. "Welcome back."

* * *

 **note:** I hit a wall with this one, started doing it from Laxus' perspective, prospered with it, then remembered my original intent which was to write about how women who love are so taken for granted. So here I am again with Mirajane's perspective.

Most of the family I have is Chinese so I grew up thinking mistresses and illegitimate children were normal. Or if not normal then something to be tolerated. Then I grew older and started speaking with my aunties, my female cousins, and even my amazing as fuck ahma, all of who have been cheated on and expected to grin and bear it, and it really made me think how wholly these women love, practically living for the sole purpose of catering to their husbands' needs and nurturing their families, only to be humiliated and degraded by their husbands' indiscretions. It's not normal but I guess this is our normal. I just wanted to write about how it feels, and how the feelings and judgement is never black and white. Most people expect it to be, as if it's an easy go left or go right decision.


	3. love in lights

**note:** A Christmas fic in August because I'm one of those cunts who starts busting out the Mariah Christmas albums in September. And I'm still a day too early for my brand of early. Don't me. I'm already fucking immersed in the Christmas spirit. I have tinsel growing out of my ass. I started 3 other Christmas-themed fics today. And did this in like 5 minutes while my soul anthem, All I Want For Christmas, blared on my father's 12 speaker surround sound. I'm a god-tier Christmas ho. No one can beat me at this game.

Have a fluffy little fic full of smiles and love and hugs and happy feelings, which my unfeeling Asian ass can't relate to.

* * *

 **3\. love in lights**

 _(canon setting, rated k+, 980 words, august 31 2017)_

.

.

Christmas always brought in a huge crowd. Mirajane couldn't think back on one Christmas where she'd had spent it all by herself. Even when mama and papa died, the three Strauss children still knew how to make a mourning period festive, all of them blessed with an over pouring optimism and love for family. Even when it was just her and Elfman left, Fairy Tail had been there for them, rowdy and warm.

Now, newly married and with close to thirty guests under her roof, it was hard to imagine ever feeling lonely. She had so much to be thankful for now with a shiny new wedding ring and a new house to go with it. _And,_ Mirajane thought with a secretive smile on her lips and a subtle brush of her and over her belly, _with_ _a little Christmas miracle on the way, too._

She wasn't big enough to show the subtle bump through her loose dress and she was glad she wasn't known to favor constricting fashion. Thought it probably wouldn't matter soon enough. She was only trying to conceal it from one person, anyway.

Across the room she spied her husband. Laxus was never good at hiding his irritation but in an effort to not be _that_ Grinch, he hid his sour expression behind one of many bottles of beer he'd be using as a crutch against the crippling idea that Dumb and Dumber (i.e.: Natsu and Gray) would be spending more than the regulated passing visit in his brand new home. It was hard not to fall in love with him over and over again as she observed him from her post. As hosts, they hadn't been able to have a minute to themselves all night and she worried that Laxus would lose it when the second fracas of the night was put on the table. The man might have been a fixture at the guild hall but he always took to his quiet corner table and noise-cancelling headset. But she'd seen him smile sincerely when Elfman's son told the tale of the wound he got from a sandbox accident and she saw his eyes soften when a less than sober Erza lead a toast for Makarov's legacy..

Mirajane didn't think it was all too bad for him. The exasperation seemed to be a customary veneer at this point.

All but swelling with love, Mirajane went to him. Festive music amalgamated with raucous life sounds around them, and even with an annoying crowd of party goers milling around them, intimacy was hard to misplace. As easily as she melted onto his side and beamed up at him, his arms went around her shoulders and he touched his lips to the crown of her head. Laxus' warmth was all-encompassing.

"Hey, you." Mirajane greeted him. "Wanna take it easy on the booze? Remember what Macao said about the beer belly." She pat a hand on his gut, playfully.

"Unlike him, I actually work out and do jobs so I'm pretty sure I'm good." Still, he scoffed at the memory. "You want me to get you one? It can't be easy to stomach seeing so many shoes on the new floors."

She contemplated telling him now in an off-handed way that she was pregnant just so she could see his jaw drop. But she supposed it would be cruel to drop the bomb in such a public setting and in such a busy environment. She could imagine the burden of sensory overload was enough for Laxus already and didn't fancy the idea of him kicking their guests out in what would surely be a state of agitation as he was prone to. No, she would stick with her original plan and tell him when they were alone.

* * *

Laxus woke on Christmas day just past 3pm. His eyes felt sore and his head felt tender but as far as hangovers went, this was a merciful one, considering all that he'd drunk the night before. He rolled over to face Mirajane when he heard her greet him good morning, her voice gentle, evoking great feeling in him. He didn't want to be that sap that wondered what he did to deserve waking up in a new house to a smoking hot wife, thirty-five but still hale and hearty, finally guild master despite it not feeling as sweet as his younger self thought it would be. It was a good life.

Mirajane had an amused look on her face, as she was prone to when watching Laxus wake up. He was always so haggard and grouchy before his brain truly caught up to full alert, not unlike a baby jostled from a nap. Brimming with fondness, Mirajane carded her fingers through his hair. "Merry Christmas."

Instead of replying, he grinned at her. It might have looked scary since he couldn't trust his facial muscles to work properly before he's had breakfast. Maybe he was still a little bit drunk because he couldn't stop staring at the way sunlight filtered through her pale hair.

Mirajane closed the book she'd been reading while she waited for him to wake (The History of BDSM; thanks, Lucy!) and slipped back under the covers with Laxus. With the covers over their heads, his arms loose and warm around her, her nightshirt sliding between their skin, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

"Laxus, I'm pregnant." She told him, plainly.

Laxus blinked. "For real?"

Mirajane nodded.

"Well, shit." Laxus huffed in faux indignation. "I thought I was gonna win Christmas this year since I got us a trip to Galuna. You're kicking my ass here, Mira." Still, he smiled, wide and toothy, before kissing her enthusiastically.

"Try harder next year. I don't want to keep a six year winning streak." Mirajane said with a laugh. Giddiness bubbled in her throat, almost overwhelming.

"This is the best Christmas, ever."


	4. melodrama

**note** : When I was in California I dated one of my housemates and we broke up after 6 months but our zipcode was expensive and finding other living situations was not in the books. Queue and awkward and miserable 10 months of waiting for my contract to expire.

Have a college au miraxus where my poor son gets dumped and he unfeels his feels about it.

* * *

 **4\. melodrama**

 _A breakup, told from end to beginning._

 _(college au, rated m, 2777 words, september 2 2017)_

.

.

"So?"

"So?" Laxus echoed. He continued to peruse his menu.

"You wanna tell me why I saw Mirajane cuddled up over cannoli with someone not you?"

Laxus considered it. He met up with Jellal at the campus cafe with the most decent coffee to catch up on lost time (and so Laxus could ask/coerce Jellal into fixing his busted laptop). Jellal had arrived later and instead of greeting Laxus, announced that while he was walking to the café, he saw Mirajane cozied up with some droopy-eyed dude in the restaurant next door. Laxus wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it. But it had to not be a big deal, right?

"We're not together anymore. She can date whoever she wants."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah."

When Laxus didn't come outright with any more information, Jellal ground his teeth. Did Erza know this? No wonder Laxus and Mira have been fielding invitations to get together. To double date like they used to. Jellal kind of felt like a dick.

"How long ago?"

"Eh. Seven months, I think."

"Seven months."

"Yup."

"So you guys broke up 5 months after moving in together?"

"Nice deductive skill, Fernandes."

"But, uh. You guys still live together?"

"It's our signatures on the lease and our names on the mailbox. So yeah, sure."

Jellal winced. "Shit buddy, that's rough."

Laxus shrugged. "I haven't had lunch yet. Can we order already, or do you want to discuss the results of my last prostate exam, too?"

"Sounds lovely. You should tell me all about it." Jellal said in a deadpan. He signaled the waiter over. "I'll have the lasagna and an Americano. And if you have the craft brew, we'll have a pitcher. My friend here has a boo-boo on his heart."

* * *

Laxus tried not so hard to think about whether or not Mirajane was seeing someone new. Actually, he tried very hard not to meddle with her life in general, but it was kind of hard not to, seeing that they lived together.

He tried to be _just_ a roommate. One that only talked to the other when the rent was almost due or when their propane tank needed to be recharged. It was next to impossible. Laxus was big enough to admit that he still found no magical switch for his feelings so he indulged his angst and still wondered about Mira. Wanted for her, too, when he was feeling particularly cruel to himself. That was fine, wasn't it? It wasn't like he was intruding.

She wasn't home very much. Some nights he wouldn't hear her come to bed until it was well into the morning. Some nights he'd make dinner and she'd say she already ate. He knew Mira didn't like eating alone. Once when he was pawing through the laundry for pants, he picked up one of her shirts, smelling like someone else's cologne. There was only so much a guy could do to keep deluding himself.

It was fine. He never bought it up. It wasn't like he had the right to.

* * *

Here was a shitty feeling for the books: going along with what boundaries Mirajane set and not having a say in it. Normally, that would have been a-okay. He could respect boundaries, but that was with the condition that he actually knew about them. Mira just seemed to erect boundaries left and right without telling him, then got angry when Laxus overstepped. What did she expect, really? He couldn't read minds.

Sometimes it was easy enough to ignore. Laxus would use her shampoo but buy some other household item they shared. He didn't really think about it much until one morning when she got mad because she was late for class and he'd used up all the shampoo. Since then, it was declared that their shampoo-sharing days were over. No big deal. He bought his own fucking shampoo. Same brand, different formula just so he could tell which was his from hers.

Sometimes, Mira was downright unreasonable. Like that time they argued about paying the bills. He'd pay for cable, she'd pay for wifi. Water, electricity, rent, sure, they could split. But there had to be _responsibilities,_ she said. He had to be _responsible_ for some of their bills on his own; it wasn't enough that he forked over money to compensate his half. It was a fine thought, but it grated on him how she said it, as if she was insinuating he wasn't ever responsible. Laxus would admit to some shortcomings, but in his defense, _she_ had volunteered that system in the first place. If she wanted to change it up, she could tell him properly, not wait until the last minute to get into hysterics.

But that was fine. He'd sleep on such events and forget about his anger the next day.

The truly bothersome change was weaning himself from the habits he'd formed as part of a couple. Laxus thrived off touch, and sometimes, he forgot himself. He'd brush past Mira and lay a hand on her hip and only remember it wasn't allowed anymore when she'd give him one of her looks. It wasn't a mean one. It was a look that said _try harder_. Try harder to unlearn how he liked being near her, or how he craved her warmth against him, or how he just took comfort in the easy instinct of touching her.

Mira looked like she understood. These weren't things one could unlearn overnight. She, too, would catch herself imparting casual touches which would make her lips thin in disappointment. In him for being too near all the time or herself for being too weak to know better?

It was fine. Laxus was just glad she wasn't too hard on him about it.

They still slept in one bed.

One time, Laxus thought about asking her if she wanted to get rid of the king bed and get two singles they could push up against the farthest walls. It would be pretty fucking weird and too tight to be comfortable in their cramped master bedroom, but if it came to that, there really wasn't a choice. Of course, he didn't actually say it. Maybe he was a fool for hanging onto whatever scraps he could get. He wasn't ready to not sleep beside her. And it made him feel better to think that if Mira did want them to sleep on separate beds, she would have no problem saying it.

Laxus was a grabber in sleep. Mira, even when they were together, always slept with her back to him and she was such a peaceful sleeper that she'd wake up in the same position if Laxus didn't pull her to him in the middle of the night. Laxus tried to mirror her habits. When they broke up, he went from falling asleep spooning Mira to falling asleep facing his side of the bed.

To no avail, it seemed. He'd still wake up with his arms and legs wrapped around Mirajane, like he was scared of letting her go even in sleep.

Thankfully, Mira never chastised him for it. During mornings he would feel her peel his limbs off her, slow so she wouldn't jostle him. One such morning, he saw through his lashes the unreadable expression on her face. Like she wanted to scold him but felt too sorry for him to do so anyway.

It was easier to pretend he was still asleep.

* * *

The look in Mirajane's eye unnerved Laxus. He might have his dick in her lovely mouth but he was aware enough to feel anxious. Normally, he'd never be able to relate to how that felt like (that is, getting a blowjob and retaining a conscious train of thought throughout it), but to be fair, he'd been on guard for a while. It felt like tiptoeing around eggshells with Mira these days.

And now, she wore the same look from when she was about to say something unpleasant. He'd seen it many times before. Mira was a sweet thing but she had a cutting tongue when her patience was stretched a little too thin. And Laxus was born with a sterling propensity to test the elasticity of any living creature's tolerance for bullshit.

He might have found it sexy. A hot girl between his legs, kneeling on the floor, looking like she wanted to turn him into stone while she blew him. He wasn't a very hard man to rile up, anyway. But it felt different today. Admittedly though, not different enough to not blow his load.

The endorphin rush wasn't even over when Mirajane flipped the mood a whole one-eighty.

"Laxus?"

Panting and still weirdly turned on, Laxus looked at Mirajane. She was sitting on her calves, wiping the corner of her lips. He cocked a brow at her, dread filling his gut before she could even say what she wanted.

"Let's break up."

Laxus, when overwhelmed, got cotton in his ears. At least, that was the only logical but not so scientific explanation for why he couldn't hear her all too clearly. "What?"

Mirajane did another familiar look: one that meant she was trying to be patient when he was being too slow. "I said, let's break up."

"Why? Because I came in your mouth?" He already felt stupid before he could finish talking.

Mirajane shook her head, turning away from him. She was not quick enough to hide the small smile that tugged at the ends of her lips. She could still find him funny, after all this. It was a weird comfort. Laxus didn't know if it bothered him that she was taking this so lightly. That _he_ was taking this so lightly. _Is this shock,_ he asked himself. Feeling the ground crumble beneath you but being too numb to want to do anything about it?

His pulse raced as he watched Mira get on her legs and pad to the bathroom. He should say something. Anything. Maybe beg her to reconsider. Maybe throw up because he was so astounded.

For a man that was often told he perpetually had a foot in his mouth, he couldn't come up with anything to say. He couldn't even feel the omnipresent fierce reaction under his skin. Dazed, he only followed her into their en suite. He was still trying to come up with _anything._ Mira gathered her hair into a high bun and tied it before getting under the shower. The water from the nozzle hit her right on the chest.

"I don't want to talk about it right now, Laxus." She said when he failed to speak.

"Will we ever?" _Or are you just going to leave me hanging like this?_

She reached for the body wash. "Yes. Just not right now."

Laxus wondered if he looked stupid right now. Was his mouth hanging open as he tried to process what was happening while his girlfriend took a shower, seeming not at all bothered? Could he even still call Mira his girlfriend? Did label privileges expire when one party declared intent for separation? Or was that yet to be decided until both of them came to an agreement on the break up? He was wondering about the most irrelevant things. Why couldn't his brain fixate on what was truly important right now, which was mustering up eloquence?

"You can't just dump me and _not_ explain it, Mira." Yes, that was good. That was _something_ , at least.

Mirajane gave him another look: one that said _wanna bet_ this time. Now it was her turn to forego speech. Her look said enough.

Laxus left her to shower, defeated. He entered the bedroom and wondered what this would mean. Was that it? Did he have to move out? Did _she?_ Were they not together anymore just because she said so? Did he have a chance to refute? He should, shouldn't he? What did they call that shit in court? The right to cross-examine? Fuck. He should ask Jellal. What else were fancy ass pre-law friends for?

Laxus told himself to get it together. He almost slapped himself. His heart was racing and his mind was spinning. He could hear Mira turn the faucet off and stomp her feet on the foot rug. Still speechless, he watched her cross the room to get clothes out of their dresser and clothe herself with the towel still on. So he wasn't even entitled to seeing her body anymore. It must be official now.

Mirajane got dressed and combed her hair and left the room to watch TV in the living room and in that span of time, Laxus still couldn't manage to snap out of his funk. Still naked, still reeling, he reached for the bottle of tequila he kept under his side of the bed.

It was probably too late to say anything now, anyway.

* * *

Was there a term for a feeling of impending doom? The French had a lot of suave-sounding terms for all kinds of shit, didn't they? Ah, it didn't matter. Laxus wasn't a man of articulacy, anyway.

It just felt fucking weird. Things with Mira, that is. Mira, who he'd been with since highschool, who he moved halfway across the country with to attend some university he didn't really feel so strongly about that he'd've left his home for it, who suggested they find an apartment and move in together to save up on rent, who he signed a scary 24 month lease with, who was now giving him at least 3 cold shoulder treatments every week since they settled into their new apartment three months ago.

Laxus wondered if this was normal. At the risk of sounding like a dick, he thought that moving in together would mean crazy rabbit sex 24/7 and more fun domestic stuff. He wanted to cook average food for her, take turns doing laundry with her, go to the grocery store at 2 am with her, figure out how to assemble the expensive bed they got. Stuff like that. He'd anticipated it. He didn't know why she was having the sudden change of heart now that things were actually pretty fucking official with the lease. Mira never got like this.

It wasn't that she was _mad_ mad. They never had a fight, it was just that she started being distant now that they lived together. They could be sitting in the same shitty sofa they found at his old dorm's storage and he would feel like there was something preventing him from talking to her. He supposed part of it was his fault, too. He should just talk to her if he wanted. It was just that he couldn't help feeling uneasy.

Laxus tried to pinpoint the fault, because knowing the problem would make finding a solution so much easier. At a guess, it would have been when he left for home the summer before they got the keys to the apartment. His grandfather had been sick and Makarov was far enough in age that every call from the aged home had Laxus fraught with nerves.

He caught a redeye and texted Mirajane the details en route to the airport. She didn't _really_ seem mad but she was probably pissed that she had to pack her stuff and his and find a way to get it into the new apartment. But what did she want him to do? Leave the old man to marinate in sickness all by himself? Sure, Makarov didn't end up kicking the bucket like he and all the caregivers thought, but still. Family first, and all that shit, right? Laxus didn't understand why Mira would be mad about that, which was probably why he didn't assume it really was the reason she was acting this way. When he came back from visiting his grandfather, things were just different. They had pleasant talks but it wasn't like it used to be. And soon, that furtive little infection spread and next thing Laxus knew, he was struggling for the right moment, the right mood, to open his mouth and ask her if she wanted to order out for dinner.

Maybe love was supposed to be like this. Not sweet and easy and made up of kisses and quirky grocery runs and domestic anecdotes. Maybe love was supposed to be an enigmatic thing that made one question everything they thought they knew. Maybe love was taking big steps and wanting to falter back just when it was too late, maybe love was stretched silences and grasping for words, maybe love was something that made two strangers out of a couple.


End file.
